The Poet and the Pendulum
by Pyromaanii
Summary: He never thought he would dream to be human.
1. Chapter 1

He was never a dreamer.

But in the back of his mind, behind the twisted, gnarled, tangled, black mass of illogical, mad thoughts... he was.

The dreamer dreamed too much, so he pushed him back, and he forgot him. He was not a dreamer. That was not him. But the dreamer got the better of him- won the battle.

He was never a dreamer. But the dreamer within that cold, black, rhythm-less heart of his, at the very bottom, was there. And that dreamer dreamed.

And he dreamed to be human.

When the monster let himself fall into slumber, the dreamer would remind him, with nightmares of the past. He would tell him, "Look at these mistakes you have made. Be ashamed. Hate yourself."

In the nightmares he was hated. His people no longer wanted him. He lost everyone in the end. A lonely king who had lost his beloved crown. A king with no crown is no king at all.

He was power hungry. That's why he thrived to be the monster he had become. He was the No-Life king. He needed no one.

But for some odd reason, his chest would ache, when he would think back. Remember that at one time or another, he had a wife... and daughters. When he was a child, he had a father, and brothers. But he did not need them, no.

But the dreamer said otherwise.

A thousand memories could flash through his mind, and he could think nothing of them. Unless there was that pull, that _tug_ in his chest... right in the center, where that black, cold, dead organ was. What was this feeling? This _pain?_ He had never felt anything so odd in his life.

But what could he do? He was a monster, not a dreamer.

Fire. Dear God, there was fire _everywhere. _He was in it. Running. Laughing without a care in the world. Why would he do that? Oh, he was not human. Nothing could hurt you when you were not human. Not even yourself.

You could destroy anything, but not yourself.

The monster shot up, vermillion pouring from all-seeing eyes. It kept on pouring when he realized he was alone.


	2. Chapter 2

It was there.

In the back of his head.

The thought he always tried to push back, but he never could.

_What happens after I die?_

But he was never supposed to die.

Not anymore.

He thought this as he watched the minute silver bullet leave the warm safety of the barrel of his gun, travel quite a few feet, and then nestle itself into a vampire's chest. They fell.

He stared.

It was very uncharacteristic of him to do this. Stand. Stare. Think. Let himself get caught up in his thoughts... especially when the thoughts were going along the lines of "Is there a god?" and "I wonder what's going to happen if and when I die".

He never thought about the fact that he could die. Most who have come across him didn't believe it was possible. They all thought he was invincible. But he was not. He never stressed this point to them, however, he enjoyed the intimidation he struck into their hearts.

No one was invincible.

Silly humans.

But somehow he envied them. Envied the fact they could die... whether they went to Hell or not. He could not help but feel a pang of jealousy tugging at his frozen, black heart. He absolutely could not help it.

He hated that.

And yet, _yet,_ he could not stop it. He turned, letting his feet carry him somewhere, anywhere, away from the corpse of the vampire behind him. He could hear that girl, oh what was her name? Seras, that's right... He could hear Seras scuttling after him, in effort to keep up, he knew her head was hung in shame, for she had thought she had disappointed her master once again.

Though she had not.

Seras was an interesting being. She became a vampire because she did not want to die, not because she was afraid. But was there a difference? Alucard found himself becoming fond of her choice, however, shrugging off his thoughts of indifference towards the matter. He actually was never frustrated with her lack of skill of the hunting of the undead, however he was frustrated with her refusal to drink blood. He had figured, if she wanted to live, why wouldn't she drink to keep herself alive? It was something that quite baffled him.

Even if he could read minds, delve deep into the young girl's head, he never did, never tried to search for an answer to the mystery he had bestowed upon himself. It was something he thought he would appreciate more if he had found out himself, and not so easily.

Seras heaved a sigh, awkwardly switching her eyes back and forth, waiting for ridicule from her master. When she received none, she clawed some voice from the black void of her throat, stammering out a, "Master?"

"Hmm?" He replied, not bothering to look back at her.

He usually never did. When one turns, they are not supposed to see their shadow.

"I.. I.. uhm, well... n..nevermind!" She eeped out.

Alucard raised a slightly thin eyebrow, not turning his head, but his eyes shifting, as if they could laser through his own head to see her.

"You want my verdict." He stated.

"Uh.."

"You did fine."

_That_ was not something Seras expected.

A small smile crept onto her face, and if she could blush, well, she would.

"T..Thank you, Master,"

"Police Girl. Quiet."

No more words emitted from the shaking blonde girl the rest of the night.

* * *

><p>"<em>Vlad!" A smack was delivered to the back of the young boys head. He winced, his head snapping up and turning to meet the face of his father. <em>

"_Huh?" He asked._

"_Were you listening to a word I said? I swear, boy, you need to get your head out of the clouds, or you will never be a sufficient ruler. Look at me. I'm great. Did I daydream as much as you, though? No. That's why." _

"_I apologize, father." _

"_Your apologies are wearing thin." _

_That one struck him. _

"_You're lucky I don't do away with you."_

_Though he eventually would._

"_You're so incompetent." _

_Eventually he would be the one saying that. _

The monster shot up from the safety of his coffin, the lid flying to some other end of the room, crimson streaming from the corners of his eyes, and for some odd reason, he was panting.

"_No,"_ He released a choked sob, head falling into his hands, tears slipping between his fingers and dripping into his lap. The only thing running through his mess of a mind was the question "Why" and echoing insults in his father's voice.

He wiped the red away from his face, not caring if it all was soaked into his glove or not, and let himself drop back, his eyes staring up into the dark, though it would never be dark, not so long as he was the monster he was. He never had to worry about being afraid of the dark again.

But, oh, how he so wanted to be.


	3. Chapter 3

He wished he had never been born.

Hence, his mental fist-shaking at his rotting corpse-of-a-mother, buried somewhere, _(dear, God knows where, his mind cannot recall for the undead life of him)_, and the loathing of his repulsive, also rotting corpse-of-a-father, who had pitched into the _oh-so-lovely_ creation of our protagonist.

He wanted to scream.

He wanted to revert back to a child, and kick his short legs, and pull at his wavy and silken mass of raven hair, and scream and cry and whine and complain until finally he got his own way. His way was to never have been born. At least, never have been born into the life he had. Into the life he lived. The one that haunted him, no matter what he did, every single fucking day.

He had realized that the name-callings he had received quite often of 'monster' were starting to get to him.

And yet he couldn't get enough of it. Couldn't get enough of the insults. He craved them. Is that why he always acted the way he did? He could not tell.

He was two faced.

Could monsters like him go into fits of depression? He could well imagine so. He felt depressed, saddened. He felt... lonely. Though there were so many people around, he never dared try and enjoy their company.

Damned humans. He despised them. Envied their beating hearts, and their rushing blood, and their lively, colourful eyes.

He envies, mostly, his master. Sir Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing. He envies her. He respects her, but at the same time, feels a burning hate, deep inside his comatose heart. Why isn't she taking advantage of being alive? Ungrateful, is she- the assumption of our little monster.

At this point, as his illogical thoughts of lunacy had pitter-pattered about his mind, he gritted his teeth in anger, had gripped the arm of his throne, a low growl emitting from the back of his throat.

He cursed. He felt like going up to that little brat's office, and choking the ungrateful little bitch out. Maybe, if she ever received a good smacking around, she would not be the way she-

No! _No, no..._ those thoughts were bad. That was his master! He was her servant. He was stitched into her hellish grasp, he was stuck. Bound until the day she died.

He chuckled. It was as if he was married to the miserable girl.

He emitted a sigh, a sigh from the air that he could not get out of the habit to stop breathing, and his eyes scanned the lonely, cold, dark room. His chest tightened, his heart was sinking through his body. He was lonely.

He was scared.

The hate grew from the envy. And the most envy was of the availability of death. He was jealous. He, was the most jealous monster in the world.

His legs were moving. He had not realized he had been walking, until he saw he was no longer inside his chambers. Instead, he was at the end of a hall.

A very particular hall, in fact, a hall that lead to his master's office.

He paused his thoughts, opened up new ones. Said to himself, _"I will see what she thinks."_ Though his master usually did not throw her two sense into the mental well-being of those around her. The only thing that mattered to her was whether they were alive, and if they were, they could not be broken, for she did not possess the super-glue of human emotions called 'compassion' to pull them back together.

And, oddly enough, Alucard was very, _very _broken.

He opened the door, unlike 99% of the other times, and stepped inside. His master was somewhat surprised by this action. Because, "the damn thing did not possess the intelligence to use a fucking door".

Her eyes scanned his face, his lips slightly turned into something of a frown, and she raised a thin, pale eyebrow at this, setting down her pen to give him rapt attention.

"You are upset."

"Yes. With you."

"With me?"

"Yes, you."

She actually smiled, a laugh about to fall out of her mouth, but she composed herself. She cleared her throat, eyes locking on the pitiful thing in front of her.

"Alucard, why are you upset with me?"

By this point, Alucard much regretted even _considering _coming to her office to do this. He let himself observe the room before letting himself answer her.

"You can die."

Came upon her face her classic 'Skeptical Integra' look.

"What?"

Alucard's eyes shifted away from her, focusing on a flaw in the marble floor that seemed oddly intriguing to him at the moment.

"Answer me, Alucard."

He heaved a sigh, eyes still fixated on the flaw in the floor, fingers twitching at his sides. He did not speak for a few moments, feeling the anger emit from his master's eyes.

"You cannot tell me that you did not hear me."

She snuffed out her cigar, sitting back in her chair, one dainty, tiny, long leg shifting over the other.

"You are upset with me... because I can die?"

"Need I repeat myself?" His tone was sharp like a new razor's edge.

"Don't you dare talk to me like that."

"And what will you do?"

An invisible blanket of silence covered the room.

Her eyes closed, her breathing grew quiet. She could feel him staring at her, waiting for an answer. She obviously did not have one, nor did she have a statement to walk around the question. Instead, she opened back up her eyes and looked up at him.

He looked like he was about to cry. What she did not know was that he had been doing that often lately.

"Alucard, what's bothering you?"

"Why do you care? You never care."

"But nothing's ever wrong with you."

"That you know of."

It was odd, having this kind of conversation for the both of them. Neither were used to sharing their feelings, neither really had feelings (or at least, that's what they had thought of each other), and they never really cared.

Up until now.

Integra removed her glasses, pinching the bridge of her nose between index finger and thumb. She felt like slapping Alucard, and yet, also felt like getting up and giving him a hug. And Integra never hugged anyone.

Ever.

Alucard's eyes shifted all over the room, looking anywhere but at Integra. He sighed again, though this time it was more hoarse and choked, and a single drop of crimson ran out from the corner of his eye.

"Do you even enjoy living? You say you don't want to be what _I _am, but yet, you barely value the life you have now. All you do is mope and complain about everything and everyone who try to _enjoy _their life. Did you ever realize that? You're never right. You don't know a goddamn _thing _about human emotion. Sure, you're thinking 'well you don't either.' Hm.

"Let me tell you something. I've been on this goddamn planet for over five hundred years. Can you even imagine how many people I've met? I've killed? I feel terrible now. They actually wanted to be alive. The ones who squirmed, anyways. The ones that laid in my arms with tears streaming down their faces going 'Please, don't kill me. Please!' … And I always thought they were pathetic.

"Though now I know I'm wrong. And I ask you, why haven't you fucking killed yourself yet?"

Integra gasped at the list bit of the rant, her blue eyes widening and looking away from him, her hands shaking.

"I..."

"You?" Alucard glared. "I know you know I'm the one to frown upon suicide, but really, why live a life when all you are is miserable? You're knee-deep in. It will be extremely hard to fix that, now. Might as well just take this!-" at this, Alucard threw his gun onto her desk, another gasp emitting from her, "-and these!-" and the bullets, "And blow your fucking brains out!"

By this point, she was crying. She had backed away from her desk, eyes locked on the gun, nails digging marks into her sides as she hugged herself, hoping it was some sort of protection from some unknown, lethal force.

It was silent, for quite a few minutes, one was crying, the other glaring, and the room felt like it was getting smaller and smaller. Integra was shaking, shaking uncontrollably, and she couldn't tear her eyes away from the weapon lying on her desk, where the barrel of the gun was pointing towards her.

Alucard was mean. He was extremely mean sometimes. He once lived the life of Vlad the Impaler, after all. But he somehow felt that this was his worst. He felt like a villain, the bad guy. He felt terrible, and all too soon. He usually saved his regret for later. But this time he couldn't.

His glare diminished, he sighed, gathering the gun and it's ammunition back up, and storing them away on his body.

"Forget it." He sighed, going out the door, and gently closing it.

Integra slid down the wall and sobbed.


End file.
